28 march 2024
It Is Getting Dark
Who had punished
the earth? Her head of moon
felled off at guillotine.
Let go. I am afraid
of myself. It is no time to
commensurate with love.
What was unsaid, will
speak eyes on their own. Give back
my basket of roses.
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade